'
'If you've the sort of mind that would forget Jones I doubt if
ever you'll be a captain of industry.'
'Why not Chalmers?'
'You think it easier to memorize than Jones?'
'It used to be my name, you see, before I got the title.'
'I see. All right. Chalmers then. When do you think of starting?'
'To-morrow.'
'You aren't losing much time. By the way, as you're going to New
York you might as well use my flat.'
'It's awfully good of you.'
'Not a bit. You would be doing me a favour. I had to leave at a
moment's notice, and I want to know what's been happening to the
place. I left some Japanese prints there, and my favourite
nightmare is that someone has broken in and sneaked them. Write
down the address--Forty-blank East Twenty-seventh Street. I'll
send you the key to Brown's to-night with those letters.'
Bill walked up the Strand, glowing with energy. He made his way to
Cockspur Street to buy his ticket for New York. This done, he set
out to Brown's to arrange with the committee the details of his
departure.
He reached Brown's at twenty minutes past two and left it again at
twenty-three minutes past; for, directly he entered, the hall
porter had handed him a telephone message. The telephone
attendants at London clubs are masters of suggestive brevity.
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